Marienburg, Amber Avenue No. 53, a single-family townhouse.
Unlike most of Marienburg's crowded and dirty districts, Amber Avenue was a wealthy area, clean and orderly. The streets were paved with large stone slabs, and magical street lamps lined the road every 20 or 30 meters. Each house was a standalone property, surrounded by walls.
The houses were mostly built in a typical Gothic style, though they incorporated unique Marienburg characteristics.
Today, a special guest arrived—or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to call him the host.
Under the blazing sun, rows of soldiers in deep blue coats, with white undershirts and trousers, stood in formation on Amber Avenue. These were the Old Guard, wearing their iconic bearskin hats and carrying finely crafted weapons, waiting to welcome their king.
On the other side of the street, the Phoenix Guard of the Ash Legion, alongside the First Army, formed their own neat ranks, ready to greet their beloved commander.
Crowds of citizens gathered to watch, eager to catch a glimpse of these two elite armies.
There was a certain aura about these soldiers—an air of survival and battle-hardened experience. Both armies had fought countless wars, forging their reputations in the fires of combat. Each soldier had earned their place of honor through blood and steel, embodying a silent, commanding presence that both terrified enemies and stirred awe in the hearts of the Marienburg citizens.
The wind blew across the street, causing the Old Guard's flag to flutter. The red, white, and blue flag bore Ryan's personal crest, the Grail emblem, and the fleur-de-lis. Embroidered upon it were the names of battles the Old Guard had fought in.
The Arden Forest, Chalon Forest, Lyonnaise Plains, Blackstone Stronghold, La-Maisonneuve Monastery, Mousillon, Nuln, the Giant's Tower in the Wasteland, Steel Rock, Valaya's Gate, Karak Eight Peaks, and the Blackwater River.
Each name told the story of this legendary army's glorious history and highlighted for the citizens the vast difference between truly elite troops and Marienburg's mercenaries.
One observer, Blackbeard Teach, the notorious privateer and leader of the Manann Mercenary Corps, cursed silently as he watched. He estimated that his forces, combined with the city's guard and whatever mercenaries he could scrape together, wouldn't stand a chance against these armies. Their superiority was overwhelming.
In the Old World, Blackbeard Teach had only seen a few forces that could compare to the Old Guard: the Reiksguard protecting Emperor Karl Franz, the Griffon Knights under Griffon Duke Ivan, the Inner Circle of the White Wolf Knights, and Nuln's Ironclad Regiment.
"When you left, you were a hero in everyone's eyes. Now, with your swift return, you have become a king," said Lieutenant General Belia, commander of the Ugor Legion, flattering Ryan with great sincerity. "Your Majesty, trust me, the people of Marienburg are eagerly awaiting your arrival, whether they like it or not."
Sulia couldn't help but stifle a laugh. General Belia never missed an opportunity to flatter, and he always did so skillfully and at the right moments.
What pleased Sulia even more was that Ryan had recently started holding her hand more often. Whenever they were together, he would clasp her hand, signaling that his queen was always by his side.
Sulia didn't know why Ryan had changed, but it was clear he had become more affectionate and thoughtful. He now considered her in all things, and this made Sulia feel that Ryan was somehow different.
It seemed that after they had spoken openly that night, something had shifted in him. There was something new about him, but also something missing.
In contrast, Sulia's brother, Julius, who stood behind Fugen, wore a dark expression. He thought to himself how Ryan had ended up with someone like Belia, who took every chance to flatter him. Could Ryan really enjoy the company of such people?
Julius, however, understood that the situation had changed. After years of following Fugen, he had learned a few rules. He refrained from immediately arguing with Ryan and instead noticed how his sister was being held affectionately by Ryan. The king was enthusiastically recounting tales of his adventures in Nordland, his time living in Marienburg with Theresa, and his encounters with Veronica, Olica—who had been bought for him by Hadrian—and the maid Emilia, who had been by his side back then.
"We'll stay here for now and wait for Lord Teclis to arrive," Ryan nodded slowly, speaking to Fugen and Sulia. "As for the matter of vengeance, that's primarily a concern for Thorgrin Ironhammer and his dwarven kin. As long as the Marienburg merchants, especially those merchant princes, don't cross the line, we should leave it to the dwarfs."
"Agreed," Fugen nodded slightly, seemingly quite relaxed. "Waiting is always amusing, but we shouldn't leave this to Angron."
"Hahaha!" Ryan laughed heartily, then turned to his wife. "My lady, how about this—over the next few days, you decide what we do. Wherever you want to go, I'll follow."
"First thing—can we buy this house?" Sulia asked, a charming smile lighting up her flawless features. "Olica, Emilia, and Veronica have all stayed here, but I haven't, and that makes me a little jealous."
"This house now belongs to Emilia," Ryan shrugged. "Ever since she became an Imperial Countess, she asked Schultz for the deed."
"Alright then," Sulia said, a little disappointed, thinking how the young maid had once again outpaced her.
Ryan, Fugen, Sulia, Olica, and Carona settled into the house, filled with memories. Meanwhile, the dwarfs were still busy with their debt collection, gathering at Marienburg's Dwarven Craftsmen's Guild to discuss their next steps.
The leader of the group was Thorgrin Ironhammer, Belegar's eldest son. He had naturally taken up the role of leader for the dwarven vengeful delegation.
"A beard to the waist, reliability guaranteed."
—Dwarven Proverb
Despite being Belegar's eldest son, Thorgrin was already in his sixties. For humans, this would mark the end of their life's journey, but for a dwarf, it was just the beginning.
Sitting on a high stool, Thorgrin puffed up his chest, trying to imitate his father's mannerisms, which made him look somewhat comical. Still, his efforts were recognized by the older dwarfs working in Marienburg. The victory of the Karak Eight Peaks expedition had given the dwarfs renewed hope for the restoration of their mountain kingdoms. Many imperial dwarfs had chosen to settle in Karak Eight Peaks, and some older dwarfs had even begun calling it the "Queen of the Silver Abyss" again.
Like Thorgrin, the younger dwarfs, known for their pride, held their heads high, trying to appear more dignified. In their youthful years, dwarfs were less stubborn and more energetic—though also more impulsive and emotional. They banged on the tables, drinking large mugs of ale and devouring roasted venison. "The scum of Marienburg must pay the price!"
"Jutone Trading Company, Lucien Trading Company, Bachel Trading Company—they must all pay compensation! Where's that bastard Mourinho?" Thorgrin slammed the table angrily. "Jed, what about the other trading companies? Have you investigated?"
"I've looked into it, Prince," replied Jed, the son of Karak Eight Peaks' chief rune craftsman, Slaud the Honest. The young dwarf wore a vibranium helmet, its top shaped like an anvil. He grumbled, "But everyone claims they weren't involved. We can't figure out who else was!"
"Grungni, above! Did you directly ask them?" Thorgrin was exasperated. "Humans are deceitful. Other than King Ryan and Queen Sulia, we can't trust anyone. That's what Father taught us. Do you think these lowly humans are as honest and reliable as us dwarfs?"
"But aren't we bound by the Holy Alliance with the Empire? Marienburg is part of the Empire," Jed still didn't understand.
"Ugh! By Grungni's beard!" Thorgrin slammed his wooden mug on the table, spilling beer foam everywhere. "You don't get it? These merchant princes of Marienburg—they're never Imperial citizens unless they need to be. When they're doing business, they don't claim to be Imperial citizens. In fact, they're ashamed of it! But the moment you point an axe or gun at them, that's when they suddenly remember they're Imperial citizens. Get it now?"
"Despicable! Treacherous! Shameless!" the younger dwarfs cursed aloud. It was the second day, and they had only one day left before the deadline given to the merchant princes. Aside from the three major trading companies responsible for shorting the Karak Eight Peaks debt, they hadn't even identified the other culprits, as most transactions had been conducted through secret channels.
Thorgrin couldn't exactly burn Marienburg down—it would violate the Holy Alliance.
As the dwarfs debated their next move, a voice came from outside.
High Priest Aldrich of the Church of Manann arrived, flanked by Sea God Knights. He wore a long, sea-blue robe adorned with bottles filled with seawater that clinked with every step. His tall hat was embroidered with a golden mermaid holding a trident,
symbolizing Manann, the Sea God.
"The Marienburg Upper Senate sends its regards to King Belegar of Karak Eight Peaks," Aldrich said, wearing a diplomatic smile. "And we also bring apologies from the Senate. This was all a misunderstanding."
"Greetings, Aldrich," Thorgrin stroked his short, brown beard and hopped down from his chair. Mimicking his father's actions, he proudly welcomed the High Priest. "You are welcome here, but only you. We have fought alongside the Sea God Knights before."
"Prince Thorgrin, this has all been a misunderstanding," Aldrich smiled. "We've been looking for you for four hours and didn't expect you to be here. I bring the Senate's apologies. The senators insist that this was just regular business. As for Mr. Mourinho, his statements were his own. After investigating, we've determined he was just a temporary employee of the Manann Daily. He's already been fired and brought here."
With that, the Sea God Knights dragged in a man wearing a shirt and trousers, with short hair and a rather handsome face. He struggled vigorously and shouted, "If you plan a way out before you even start, it means you never intended to give it your all! I never prepare an escape! I am José Mourinho! I am special!"
"Ah, Mr. Mourinho, I've finally found you," Thorgrin laughed coldly. He signaled for his dwarfs to grab the human and said politely, "We will read your crimes one by one, and until then, your safety is assured."
"Everything is already written! My life is destined to pluck roses from the thorns!" Mourinho ranted wildly. "The caravan passes while the dogs bark! Look at those dogs, but the caravan moves on!"
"Heh, yes, Mr. Mourinho," Thorgrin nodded. "But I think you've misunderstood who the dogs are and who the caravan is."
"Take him away! Read from the Book of Grudges, and then we'll settle the score!" Thorgrin declared, as the dwarfs cheered in agreement.
After the charges were read, Mourinho realized the gravity of the situation and quickly said, "Wait! Wait! My dwarven friends, I have a proposal! According to the Great Book of Grudges, I can choose to accept beard punishment!"
"Oh? You're willing to accept beard punishment?" Thorgrin's eyes lit up.
Beard punishment was one of the most severe dwarven punishments, where the victim's hair and beard were shaved off, and a symbol of shame was branded on their forehead. This was equivalent to social death among dwarfs, and most preferred execution over this dishonor.
(Since the Age of Disaster, the dwarfs had largely abandoned execution and beard punishment, as every dwarf was considered valuable. The Slayer Oath had gradually replaced these penalties.)
"I'm willing to accept beard punishment!" Mourinho thought to himself with a cold smile. As an expert in dwarven history, he knew all about their punishments and had found a loophole.
"Very well. Bring the razors and shave off Mr. Mourinho's hair and beard," Thorgrin ordered.
And so, Mourinho's hair and beard were completely shaved off. He was left bald, with a symbol of crossed pickaxes branded on his forehead, marking his crime.
Ha! I'm fine! Mourinho thought, rubbing his smooth chin and forehead. He laughed inwardly, thinking that his hair and beard would grow back in a year or two. These dwarfs are stuck in their old ways. I've figured them out!
I, José Mourinho, am invincible! he thought proudly. Seeing that the punishment was over, he quickly asked, "Alright, your vengeance is complete. Can I leave now?"
"Oh, it's not over yet!" Thorgrin's laughter shook his whole body. "Mr. Mourinho, who told you beard punishment ends with shaving your head and beard?"
"What?" Mourinho's face fell as he saw the other dwarfs roll out five large barrels filled with dwarven ale. The strong smell of alcohol hit him immediately. "What...what else is there?"
"Didn't you know? After beard punishment, to atone and thank Grungni and Valaya for forgiving your sins, every dwarf who accepts beard punishment must drink five barrels of dwarven ale on the spot," Thorgrin said, mimicking his father's tone. "Oh, and I forgot to mention—this part of the punishment is often considered a reward for the bravery shown in accepting beard punishment, so it's rarely written down in the books!"
"Five barrels of dwarven ale. You have to finish them all, or I can't promise Grungni and Valaya will forgive you!" Thorgrin waved his short arm. "Pour it down his throat!"
"Yes, sir!" the dwarfs grabbed Mourinho, holding him down as they filled mugs and ladles with ale, forcing it into his mouth.
Amidst his screams, cries, and pleas, Mourinho met his end, succumbing to alcohol poisoning.
With Mourinho dealt with, the next matter was the compensation. Thorgrin pulled a gold mark from the chest, inspected it, and bit it gently with his teeth. "Aldrich, you've only brought 18,000 gold marks. That's not what we asked for."
"Well, everyone's struggling a bit. Please accept this amount as a gesture of goodwill," the High Priest replied with a diplomatic smile. "Consider it an apology."
"No, 38,000 gold coins. Not a single coin less!" Thorgrin threw the coin back into the chest and said coldly, "And you seem to have misunderstood something."
"Misunderstood?"
"When we said 38,000 gold coins, we meant dwarven gold coins, not Imperial ones!"
"The grudge against Mourinho is settled, but you can go back and tell the merchant princes that I'm giving them three more days! I want 38,000 dwarven gold coins—every single one!"
"Otherwise, we'll settle this grudge by other means!"
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